Paper Hearts
by TheChicaChic
Summary: Set after 5.5; in honor of Sir Harry's birthday; a one shot. The full body fatigue and mental weariness wears heavy on her as Ruth slowly trudges down the hospital corridor. It has been a long time since she has felt like this; two years if she's willing to let herself think of that time.


_**AN: In honor of Sir Harry's birthday and tradition, I present to you an HR one shot. Not the M-rated one I promised, but this little bit came to me while I was playing around with pieces of paper and wouldn't go away. Special thanks to Sigma Creations for reading this over ahead of time and correcting my boo boo's.**_

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The full body fatigue and mental weariness wears heavy on her as Ruth slowly trudges down the hospital corridor. It has been a long time since she has felt like this; two years if she's willing to let herself think of that time.

'_No,'_ she thinks with a shake of her head, she can't think of then. It will only depress her. And just when she's finally in a better place and allowing herself to try and move on. No, that won't do at all. '_Though it's funny, you're having a harder time scheduling a date with the doctor than you ever did with Harry_.'

And there it is again, the deep ache she feels in her chest when his name slips into her mind; the tightness that grips her as she wonders how long it was before he met someone else. That morning when they'd said goodbye, she had let herself believe that he was going to tell her he loved her; that something wonderful never said was those three words equaling eight letters. And perhaps she was right, he had loved her, but she also knows from personal experience that love is fickle and once one is out of sight, they're out of mind.

For most.

As she'd spent a year traveling though the grand, and not so grand, cities of Europe, she had come to realize she would always love him. Deeply and with her entire soul.

She was just that type of person.

But she didn't expect him to love her still.

This is why she had finally agreed to go out to dinner with the widowed doctor. From their talks in the staff room, she knew he could understand and appreciate loving someone completely and yet not being able to be with them. He would always love his wife with a fierceness no one could match.

Just as she would love Harry.

Perhaps they would be able to offer a semblance of comfort to the other.

'_Now is not the time to think of all this,'_ whispers her inner voice. And it's right, she has work to do.

The job as a translator at the community hospital in Polis couldn't have come at a better time. Cyprus had been her last stop on her ground tour; having visited every city they had spoken of but Paris and New York. Somehow they meant too much to go alone and so she resolved that she would never visit them.

She hadn't been sure where she would settle permanently, but she knew she would need to decide soon. The money Adam and Zaf had procured for her wouldn't last much longer and the more time she spent listlessly traveling would make it all the more difficult to find something. As it was, it would be near impossible with no references. A sprained ankle had solved her problem.

It had been her second week in Cyprus. An early morning venture to the market had found her tripping over a young boy, her leg twisting as she tried to keep herself from falling on him. He had rushed to her side, apologizing in his small voice with little hands patting her face. She'd smiled while all the while wanting to cry at the pain in her leg, but unable to make the little mite feel anymore guilt than he already was. His father, George, had revealed himself to be a doctor at the local hospital.

He'd insisted on taking her for an x-ray for he feared a break, even after she had explained she was a tourist and it wasn't necessary. Two hours later she had walked out with a set of crutches and a job, having helped speak to a fellow tourist in Russian when no one could converse with him.

The pay was alright. Nothing significant but enough that, if she was careful, she could live relatively well. And the people she worked with were wonderful; supportive once they found out she was a 'widow'.

She couldn't ask for more. She really couldn't.

Stopping outside a door, she glanced at her watch, a sigh of relief leaving her as she saw it was time for her to leave. Just this last patient; a man uncooperative with the a nurse who spoke German; and then she could leave.

She knocks quickly on the door, her hand on the handle when a gruff voice says "betreten" (enter).

Turning the handle, she steps into the room, closing the door behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle – something isn't right. Normally, when she enters the patient's rooms, at least one low light is on. This one is dark, the only light coming from the dusk sky outside.

"Hallo?" (hello?) she asks, hand sliding into her pocket to feel the can of mace.

"Ja?" (yes)?

The voice is muffled still, coming from the area of the restroom, and she relaxes some, her hand still on the can of mace. Perhaps he had been in there for some time and hadn't gotten round to turning on the light.

"Ich bin hier um Ihnen beim Ausfüllen Ihrer Zulassung Datensätze unterstützen." (I am here to assist you in filling out your admission records.)

"Naturlich. Einen kurzen moment." (Of course. One moment.)

Something about the voice screams familiarity but she can't say how or why. The knot in her stomach tightens as she crosses the white linoleum to the bed. Hand reaching out, she pulls the string to turn on the overhead light, her eyes blinking as the room brightens. As her eyes adjust, she looks around. The room is neat, too neat; the one item in the room a passport book on the bed.

Eyes lifting, she glances once at the closed bathroom door, then back at the passport. She shouldn't look she knows, it's an invasion of privacy, but worry and fear has her squashing the voice. Taking a step forward, she bends over and picks up the red faux leather. The gold writing has her heart stopping as she realizes it's not a German passport but English.

With shaky hands she opens the book, wanting to know who it is that has been sent to deal with her. Pages fanning open, she watches as something falls free. Ignoring it for the moment, she turns to the front of the book.

Eyes falling on the name and picture, she gasps.

It's her passport. Her _real_ passport.

Ruth Evershed.

Book clutched in her hand, she now reaches for the object that had fallen. As she picks it up, she frowns, wondering why someone has taken the time to fashion a paper heart out of strips of paper. Turning it, she tries to find writing or something, anything to shed some light.

There's nothing.

She's looking from the book to the heart, trying to figure out the meaning when the bathroom door opens. Too engrossed in the mystery, she doesn't hear the man step into the room. He stares for a moment, drinking in the sight of her in disbelief that after all this time they're finally together again. It's unreal to him that they're together again; even if for a limited time. His arms ache to go wrap themselves around her, to pull her close and not let her go again.

Instead he speaks.

"A little over two years ago the most amazing and beautiful woman I had ever seen or known was ripped from my life. I didn't know when or where I would see her again, but I promised myself I would when it was safe. And when I did, I swore I would tell her how much I loved her, wouldn't let her keep me from saying it this time."

As he's been speaking, her head has risen, her mouth open wide as she stared at him in shock. Unable to keep himself away any longer, Harry moves across the room, stopping in front of her. Never two to be forthcoming in their relationship, he takes a leap and rests his hand on top of hers.

"Harry," she whispers, her hand turning so she can grip his tightly.

It's the first time they have ever held hands and she's surprised at the warmth and softness of his skin. Tears prick in her eyes as she realizes he's real; that the man she was thinking of just ten minutes before is standing here with her.

"Wha…what are you doing here?"

"It's safe," he whispers, gripping her hand tightly. "You're free."

When the words finally penetrate her mind, she breaks into tears, never realizing just how _much_ she wanted to hear those words. As she sobs, Harry wraps his arms around her, pulling her close.

"It's alright," he mumbles, mouth pressed against her ear.

It's sometime later that she stops crying, her body sagging against his as she lifts her face. The tiredness she had felt earlier is tenfold, but now she welcomes it. Slowly, she lifts her hand, fingers brushing his cheek as she smiles up at him.

"Say it," she whispers.

"I love you." His voice loud and clear, he smiles as he leans towards her. "Always have, always will."

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_**AN: I hope you enjoyed and if you've the time, will leave a review letting me know what you thought.**_


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